


The Right Words

by beeeinyourbonnet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeeinyourbonnet/pseuds/beeeinyourbonnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold and his ragtag team of rescuers arrive at the mines a minute too late--Belle's hit the curse, and now all she remembers is a man freeing her from a cell and a set of instructions. Gold takes her back, heartbroken, but perhaps this isn't the death sentence he imagined. Perhaps he finally has the perfect chance to show Belle the man he can be for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I spent about four days watching the entire series, fell in love with Rumbelle [well, first Rum, then Belle, then them together], decided there wasn't enough of it, read bunches of fanfictions, and then finally decided that it was time to write my own. Then, of course, I had to rewatch all of the Rumbelle bits [ikr? woe is me], and thus, this was born.

**Prologue**

When Belle awoke, she was in a mineshaft. Awoke might not have been the right word—Belle did not think she had been asleep, but she did not remember being in a cart or a mine. She couldn’t even think of what either of those things were. The names sprung to mind, but if asked what a mine was, she would only have been able to wave her hand and say, “this.” The only thing she knew for certain was that she had been locked in a dark room, much smaller than this one, for a long time. That, she had no words for.

She was attached to the side of the cart. When she looked down, she could also find no words for the metal bracelet other than ‘chains,’ but she did find a keyhole. There must have been a key somewhere. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember how she had gotten the chains on her. There was a woman, or maybe a man—yes, it was a man—and he was wearing a white coat.

“No,” she said aloud. Her voice echoed back at her, and it sounded like the walls were both agreeing with and denying her. She spoke again, so that something else would echo.

“It was not a white coat. But I do recall a man in a white coat. He led me out of the room.” _Room_ echoed around and around the dirt walls, and this soothed her, as though the walls were reminding her that she had the correct word.

“Where is the key?” she asked them, but they just echoed _key, key, key_. “Right. Can’t answer me.”

Belle had always been resourceful—at least, she had probably always been resourceful. It was disconcerting not to know these basic facts about herself, although she had strange idea that she knew how to get herself out of a scrape. Even if this fact might not have been true, it was a comforting thought, and Belle reasoned that, even if she didn’t know her own name at the moment, she would at least know that she was resourceful.

She took a deep breath, and her lungs filled with the stale, dusty mine air. Nonetheless, the air cleared her head and her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. There was a small ray of light keeping everything from being pitch-black, which, with Belle’s practiced cat-like vision, was enough for her to see most of the details in the shaft. The cart she was in was settled on a rickety wooden track, which her brain supplied as being normal for a mine. She thought she could remember reading a book of stories. Someone must have, at one point, taught her to read.

Nothing in the mine seemed like it could help her, no matter how hard she looked. She directed her gaze all around, making the circuit six times before deciding that she would just have to try and wriggle her wrist out of the metal cuff.

It was then, as she gave up, that a sparkle caught her eye. She whipped around to look at the ground, cart rattling with the force of her movement, and her eyes lit upon something smooth and metallic. It sparkled faintly golden in the dim glow, and when this color filled her thoughts, Belle gasped.

“Gold!” There was a memory tugging—if amnesia was going to be this easy to overcome, she was sure she would remember her name soon—and she closed her eyes to tease it out.

The man with the white coat. This was his memory. He had nothing to do with the mine, but he did have a key. She remembered him coming to her door, and leading her out. He had said something, too, and when she opened her eyes to let the golden sparkle find them, she remembered it.

“ _Find Mr. Gold. He’ll protect you. Tell him that Regina locked you up._ ”

 _Find Mr. Gold_.

She didn’t know who Regina was, or even who Mr. Gold was, but she did know what instructions were and she knew she had to follow these if she had any hope of finding out anything. Maybe she would find that man, and he would be able to tell her.

But there was no way she would find anything if she remained trapped in a mineshaft. Leaning over the side of the cart, she squinted toward the sparkle, and when she identified it, she squeaked. The sound that echoed back at her made it seem like a cloud of bats was about to attack, but she didn’t notice as she worked to get herself out of the cart. It was difficult in the strange shoes and small dress that she was wearing, but she toppled over the edge after a mere moment of struggle, clinging to the side to keep from pulling the cart down, and then she was kneeling on the floor and digging in the dirt, because that object was a key.

Once she had grasped it, and freed herself, she stood up and brushed her hands off.

 _Find Mr. Gold_.

She repeats these words in her head like a mantra as she walks, and when her impractical heels start to sink into the dirt with every step, she starts whispering it out loud. Soon, she sheds her shoes, and the light grows brighter, slicing through the darkness and making her squint.

“Find Mr. Gold,” she whispers. She is quiet enough now that the walls have stopped echoing back, but she no longer needs their assurance. She knows what to do.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this pretty immediately, just so that there's a better idea of what's to come. Hope you enjoy!

Despite the fact that he was wealthy and powerful, and inspired fear wherever he went, Mr. Gold was not a difficult man to find. Much to his chagrin, most people knew that they could find him in his shop at any given time, whether out front or in the back room, and now everyone knew that he could be found outside the mine, where he had been for the past two days.

He wanted to go inside the mine, to crawl through the small hole the rockslide had left and find Belle—or whatever was left of her—and then blow the whole thing to pieces to get them both out. He wanted to run through the streets, burning everything that Moe French loved, covering his flower shop, his livelihood, in rocks and dirt and boulders, just as he had covered the only thing that Gold loved. He wanted to yell and scream and beat his cane against the wall of rock over the entrance, the effects of him sending magic through the shaft at the exact moment that Belle hit the curse. All magic had a price, and he wanted to destroy that price, the barrier between himself and Belle.

The only thing keeping him from doing any of this was Ruby. It was not out of affection for her, but out of the surprising amount of sense she had spoken after the initial burst.

They had arrived at the mine as quickly as Ruby’s reckless driving would allow, and Mr. Gold, despite his knee, had been the first one at the mine opening. David, Moe, and Ruby all joined him as he was bursting through the entrance, moving more slowly now because he needed to make sure that his cane got footing before his actual foot did.

He stopped when a familiar man shuffled toward them, but just long enough to recognize him. David and Ruby followed, but Moe sagged against the wall in relief. Mr. Gold stopped, closed his eyes, and turned around. No one dared speak to him, so he directed his attention to Smee.

“Where is she.” It wasn’t a question.

Smee directed his answer at Moe. “Should be there by now. Should I—”

But no one found out what it was that Smee wanted to do, because Mr. Gold had let out a roar not unlike an enraged wolf, and lunged forward with his hands thrust out. Smoggy purple light burst through his fingertips, and he was certain that, had it been a second sooner, all would have been fine. He would not have hit the curse. Now, however, the screech of magic against magic had everyone covering their ears, including Mr. Gold. Then, the mine shuddered.

“Everybody, move!” David yelled, and no one needed a second urging, except Mr. Gold, who ran forward instead of backward.

“Mr. Gold!” Ruby yelled. He tried to move forward, but the rumbling made it hard for his cane to grab hold of the ground. 

“Leave him!” Moe French said, already on the outside of the entrance.

“Mr. Gold!” David yelled.

Mr. Gold didn’t respond, just felt along the wall, feeling helpless now that he couldn’t use magic. “Belle!” he yelled, his voice feeble and weak.

“Rumpelstiltskin!”

David’s use of his real name threw Mr. Gold, and he paused to look at him. This was his mistake—instead of allowing him to run through the mines and find Belle, David grabbed his shoulder and hauled him to safety with the rest of his huddling rescue team.

“ _No_!” he yelled, but it was like he had wronged the mine, too, and it chose that moment for the entrance to collapse. He yelled again, throwing himself against the rocks and debris as they settled into their stony barrier, pounding until his fists bled, until David and Ruby had to join together to haul him off the rocks.

It took him a few seconds to calm himself, and when he did, he realized that there was a better use of his hands—strangling Moe French.

“You bastard!” he yelled, but when he turned to wrap his bony fingers around his throat, there was no Moe French to be seen. “Where is he?”

Ruby and David exchanged looks.

“He drove off. Him and the other guy.”

Gold took this to mean that they had warned him to escape. Rumpelstiltskin did not forgive transgressions.

He did not owe them explanations, but speaking out loud was the only way he could sort through his thoughts, so he looked David in the eyes and said, “I am going to break down this wall.” He raised his hands to send a blast through, but Ruby leapt on them with a loud cry. He gritted his teeth. His patience would only last so long.

“What are you doing, dearie?” he growled, turning toward her like a snake stalking its prey.

“You can’t blast the mine. It could collapse.” She hopped off of him, back toward the prince, and folded her arms.

Gold looked at the mine. It seemed to sag under the weight of clashing magic, held up by the rocks in its new opening. Belle could have been dead already.

“I won’t leave her.”

He looked to David now, for sympathy, and he knew that the prince did understand, would have done the same thing if it had been Snow trapped inside that mine. Thus, Mr. Gold couldn’t help feeling a twinge of betrayal when David stepped over and put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder.

“She’s right. If Belle is alive, we don’t want to risk collapsing the mine. We’ll ask the dwarves for help.”

“No.”

Both looked at him in surprise at the vehemence of his outburst. “I don’t want the dwarves knowing my business. I will get her out. Right now.”

He started toward the mine again, and again, Ruby leapt in front of him.

“Wait! I have an idea.”

He felt like an hourglass, his patience trickling down until there was nothing left in the top. He clenched his teeth again. “What.”

“I don’t smell blood,” she said, and Gold’s teeth unclenched a fraction. “And if she’s not out by tomorrow, I’ll be able to smell whether or not she’s alive. And if she is, there will be air, because look.” She pointed to the rocks. They had arranged themselves on the top to leave a head-sized hole, through which light was falling and air was flowing.

“So what do you suggest we do?” He crossed his hands on top of his cane.

“We wait.”

* * *

 

Two days later, he was still waiting. David had brought him a chair, a book, and a flashlight, which he shined through the air hole whenever night fell. Otherwise, he sat and stared at the pages, turning them every once in awhile when he thought he ought to have finished reading. Henry visited him once, to bring him a coffee and assure him that true love always wins, and though Gold did not share his sentiments, he appreciated the gesture and so forced a smile.

Ruby came twice a day with a bag from the diner, and always assured him that Belle was alive—she could smell no death nor blood. On the second day, she sat and had lunch with him, and when he couldn’t bring himself to speak, she spoke instead.

It was amazing how kindly people looked on him when they were pitying him. He was certain that Ruby always went out of her way to make his life hell, but when she sat with him that afternoon, it was as though they were old friends.

She next came at sundown, while he was preparing to balance the light on the rocks for Belle. Every hour or so, he would call to her, just in case she was lost and confused and needed a voice to guide her. He was starting to lose hope.

Ruby would not let him. When he flung his love’s name into the darkness, he had to lean against the rocks for support, unable and unwilling to listen to the silence that followed. Ruby picked his cane up from the ground and handed it to him.

“You need to go home,” she said, and it was not what he had been expecting.

“I will be the one to decide when I go home,” he said, accepting his cane with a nod of thanks.

“How are you going to help her if you’re falling asleep? You’re an old man. Go home.”

“I am not falling asleep.” He gritted his teeth. It was becoming a familiar gesture around the young Miss Lucas.

“Not yet.” She put a hand on her hips. “Go home. I can take the watch tonight.”

It was then that he noticed what else she had brought, in addition to his dinner. She had multiple flashlights, a boom box, a bag of snacks, and a sleeping bag. He sighed. She was prepared enough.

“Fine. I will be back in four hours. Call me immediately if anything changes.”

“Five hours.”

Teeth still clenched, he nodded. “Very well. Five hours.”

* * *

Just before 11 p.m., Mr. Gold was showered and dressed in a new, clean suit. He had laid in bed for a few minutes upon arrival, but he knew that sleep would not come until he knew Belle was safe—and, if she wasn’t, then sleep might never come again.

He decided to take his car, even though a walk would relieve some stress. He was not young, and his knee did not approve of long walks that were not at the pace it set for him. He also decided to swing by the shop, because if Belle woke, there were some things she might need, and he wanted to have them for her. He was surprised it had taken him this long to think of it.

There was no one in Storybrooke who would have been surprised at Gold’s collection of women’s clothing. No one would dare suggest that he needed them for less than reasonable and honorable reasons—at least, not to his face—and now everyone would see why they had come in handy. It would be the second dress that Belle wore from his collection, and he figured he should pick something plain, so as not to alarm her. She would not be used to the fashions of this world yet, and she might be alarmed if she looked at something like Ruby’s outfit.

He had just picked out a blue A-line, reminiscent of the blue dress she wore when last they knew each other, when the bell on the door tinkled. Anger bubbled up in him—who the hell was at his shop in the middle of the night? There was only one person who would show up like this, and Regina was the last person he wanted to see right then.

“I’m closed, dearie,” he said, his voice a low growl as he limped out from the back, dress folded over his arm.

When no one answered, he knew it could not be Regina. She would never stay quiet this long. The thuds of his cane on the ground quickened until he was out in the open. Ruby stood in the doorway, lips pressed together in cheeky sheepishness, and with her arm around Belle. Gold dropped the dress.

“Belle!” His voice was hoarse, and he stumbled forward, catching himself on the counter before he made a fool of himself and fell on his face. “You’re safe.”

Belle smiled, but it was Ruby who spoke, unable to meet his eyes.

“I was going to bring her back to Granny’s to clean up, but she insisted we come here.”

This would explain the reason Ruby had been so nice to him—she was buttering him up. To take Belle herself, to try and take her away from him, had probably been her plan all along.

“Insisted?” He looked at Belle. Belle nodded. He felt like Atlas, relieved of his burden. “You remember me.”

She smiled again, and nodded, and as Gold lunged to wrap her in his arms, she spoke and he stopped, pulling a Charlie horse in his good leg.

“I was told to find Mr. Gold and tell him that Regina locked me up. He said you would protect me?”

She looked proud of herself, dirty hands folded together in front of her ruined dress. Gold clenched his teeth against the pain, convincing himself that it was only the pain of his leg. They had already been through this. She should have remembered him at least as Mr. Gold.

“Yes,” he said, feeling like the world was moving beneath him and he was powerless to walk on it. “Yes, I will protect you.”

She nodded, looking around the shop now instead of meeting his eyes. He supposed he wouldn’t have met his eyes, either. She was still smiling, though, and that was all that mattered.

Because he wasn’t sure that he could continue to watch her, he shifted toward Ruby, wincing when his tender muscle moved. He would need to walk that out.

“Thank you, Ruby. You’ve been very kind. Leave now.” He tried to keep his words from sounding harsh, but he couldn’t help feeling angry at the wolf. That’s what she was to him now—a sneaky, untrustworthy wolf with a useful sense of smell.

“You sure I shouldn’t take her to Granny’s?” Ruby asked, looking between them. Gold wanted to answer, but he knew she was asking Belle and that Belle’s biggest fear was having her life decided for her. So he kept quiet, teeth together and hands pressed to the top of his cane, and waited.

“Yes, I think I’ll be fine here.” Belle turned to smile. “I trust Mr. Gold.”

 _Maybe you shouldn’t_.

He knew that Ruby was thinking just that, and the words crossed his own mind as well—but Gold knew, no matter what anyone else said or thought, if there was one person who could trust him, it was Belle.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might start titling chapters with song lyrics. Would that confuse anyone, since they're already off? Does it matter?

She looked terrible. Once Ruby had left, Gold took the time to look her up and down, down and up, left and right. He even made her turn slowly in place. If she thought it odd, she said nothing, and by the time she was facing him again, she looked to be holding in laughter.

“Do I pass inspection?” she asked.

“Not at all, dearie.” He shook his head, and started the laborious walk toward her. Both of his legs hurt now, and it took twice as long as it should have. Belle took his hand to steady him, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look so old in front of her. Of course, this new slowness was her fault—if she had just come out of the mines while he was there, he wouldn’t have pulled a muscle in his leg and he would only be limping as much as was usual.

“I am a bit dirty, I suppose,” she said, leading him to the door. “And it’s freezing outside.”

“You’re cold?” He stopped walking and shrugged out of her hand. She let it hover in the air for a few seconds, confused until he started to shake his jacket down his shoulders.

“Oh, no.” She pressed both hands to her heart when he tried to hand it to her. “I’ll get it all dirty.”

He pursed his lips. “It’s just a jacket, dearie. I’ll get it cleaned.”

When she still wouldn’t take it, he limped around and flung it over her shoulders. There were some bruises around there, on her shoulder blades and the base of her neck. They were in a straight line, as though she’d been thrown against a door or counter. He tried not to get angry—getting angry in front of her would not solve anything. He’d had two days to do nothing but think, and if he knew anything now, it was this.

“You’re hurt,” he said instead. When she reached up to pull the jacket around herself, he saw that her hands were as bruised and bloodied as his were.

“There were a lot of sharp things in the mine.” She shrugged as she stepped forward, and the dual motion caused her to sway. He threw his free arm out behind her to steady her.

“You must be half-starved. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

“Did I live with you before?” she asked, allowing him to lead her now.

He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “You have stayed with me in the past, yes.”

“So we do know each other?”

“Yes.” He turned to lock the shop door and when he looked back at her, she was watching him with curiosity.

“How?”

He forced a smile, putting his arm back on the small of her back and guiding her forward. “That’s a story for another time, dearie. Don’t want to overwhelm you.” 

* * *

 

It turned out that he didn’t have to tell her anything for her to be overwhelmed—all she needed was to see and enter a car, and her mind almost short-circuited. Gold encouraged her to play with the buttons, because they seemed to be frightening her the least, but she spent the entire ride with her back plastered to the seat, clutching his cane like it was warding off demons. It must have hurt her hands, but her grip did not loosen until he had walked over to her side to retrieve her, using the car as a walking aid.

“Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think—your cane—”

“It seems that you needed it more than I did, dearie,” he said, accepting it when she handed it to him before climbing out. She hopped from foot to foot for a few seconds before settling on her blackened toes. Then, she looked up and her jaw dropped.

“Is this your house?”

“And yours, for as long as you’d like.” He put a hand on her back and gave her a gentle push so that she would walk forward. She did, eyes and mouth the size of tennis balls, head moving in every direction to take it all in.

“You have stained glass windows. On your house.”

“What can I say? I like pretty things.”

She didn’t look at him when he said this, but he looked at her, and he continued to look at her until they got inside and she was flooded with light, and then he could look no more without being flooded with anger at Moe French. He was going to be a dead man as soon as Gold found him.

“All right, first thing’s first. Food.” He started limping toward the kitchen, needing something to do with his hands and a knife that wasn’t killing someone.

“No.”

He turned to look at her and she shook her head. “No?”

“No, I think I need a shower, first.”

At this, he almost smiled. “You remember showers.”

She nodded. “I used to take them. When I was locked up. I know they’re not very useful, but at least it’ll get the dirt off.”

He peered at her. Almost immediately upon entering this new world, he had decided that he preferred showers to baths—they were cleaner, more practical, and much easier to clean up from. Then, he realized why she thought they weren’t useful, he felt a surge of anger at Regina.

“I am going to k—” No. This was what had taken her from him in the first place. He could not even threaten to kill anyone. He swallowed. “—cook you a nice dinner while you shower.”

 Rehabilitating Belle was going to take a lot of self control.

She smiled and nodded. “Could you show me where it is?”

That’s right. Belle would have no way of remembering her way around his house.

“Of course. Come on, sweetheart.” He offered his arm and they made their way to the stairs, and then slowly up them. It seemed that the adrenaline, or whatever was keeping Belle’s aches and pains away, was wearing off and she, too, was starting to limp. That would be easy to fix, though, once she was clean and he could assess all of her injuries.

In the few days he’d had with her, prior to their big fight, he had purchased bath and shower essentials, as well as a few things to wear. Since it had been him doing the shopping at the time, so that she could get used to her surroundings, he had bought things as plain as he could. The shampoo and shower gel were vanilla scented, the dresses were all simple, and the slippers were Tempurpedic, but plain yellow. For pajamas, however, he had been unable to resist the silk nightgowns.

He had always had a fondness for silk, and he had tried to get the most modest styles he could find, but it was like this world wanted silk to be in fashion only for harlots. Still, they covered, and he had managed to get one that was just like a big shirt. It was this that he found for her, and to it, he added a pair of his own silken boxers. After a second’s thought, he made his way to the underwear drawer he’d prepared, and pulled out a pair of simple cotton underpants that he’d been just as uncomfortable purchasing as he was now retrieving.

When he made his way back to the bathroom, she was contemplating all of the bottles while the water ran to get hot. There was shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, women’s shaving cream, and a face scrub. She turned to him, chewing her lip.

“I don’t know what to use these for. I only ever remember a bar of soap and some shampoo.”

He was going to burn the asylum to the ground. Unfortunately, it was the bottom foundation of the hospital, and that wouldn’t be good.

“Allow me to give you the bathroom tour.” He set the clothes down on the fluffy toilet cover, and then limped over to the array of bottles, making a sweeping gesture toward them. “This is shower gel.” He picked it up and handed it to her so that she could examine it. “You put it on the loofah and scrub yourself.”

“The what?” She set the bottle down and looked at him.

He pointed to the pink bundle next to the brown one he used himself. “Squeeze it on there, rub it around a bit until it’s sudsy, and scrub away, dearie.”

“That’s so practical,” she said, tilting her head at the loofah and staring in awe. When she had stared long enough, she turned back to him. “All right, next?”

“Shampoo, you know.” He picked the bottle up and handed it to her. “This is conditioner. It goes in after you’ve rinsed the shampoo out. You use it the same way. It—conditions.” He didn’t know what conditioner did, but he knew that all of the women in the aisle of the drugstore had given him strange looks when he didn’t, at first, pick a bottle up.

“Of course. Makes sense.” She accepted the bottle, which was slick with condensation now that the bathroom was steaming up.

“Best make the rest quick.” He picked up the shaving cream and handed it to her. “This is for your legs, when you shave them, which I don’t recommend doing until we assess the state of your injuries.”

“Let’s keep it there, then. To save confusion.”

“And face wash. There was a woman who about beat me down when I said I was stocking my bathroom for a female and she saw that I wasn’t buying any.” He shook his head and handed it to her while she laughed.

“Oh, my. You’re so very brave.”

He paused in lowering his hand. It was the first time she’d ever said that, in jest or otherwise, and she had no idea what it meant to him. She had no idea that she had left him for being a coward.

“Well, that remains to be seen, sweetheart.” He forced a smile. “Now, I suggest you get in before you can’t see where you’re going anymore.”

She glanced over at the shower, steam pouring out from atop the curtain, and flushed. “Right. I’ll see you downstairs soon.”

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Gold was not a chef, but he knew enough to make the basics, and he also knew that the basics were best for a person who hadn’t eaten in two days. He dug a chicken breast out of his fridge and tossed it into a frying pan with a lid to cook while he got the rest of his soup ingredients in order. It was most satisfying to chop the carrots, but he also found solace in the onions, the celery, the mushrooms, the potatoes. All of these went into a pot with some chicken broth as quickly as he could get them, and then he set it to boil. Next came the task of poking at the chicken, as though this would make it cook faster. It did, however give him time to think.

The fact that Belle didn’t remember him was like a dagger through his heart, but he couldn’t help the niggling little thought that this was better for her. She didn’t belong with a monster like him. He had been selfish this time, prepared to take her back because he had missed her for so long, when the right thing to do would be to let her go. She could never, and should never, love someone like him.

And yet, life had given her only one memory—to find him so that he could protect her. That had to mean something, indicate in some way that they were meant to be. Maybe instead of a curse, he should look at this as a blessing—she wanted him to change, and now he could. He could be the man she wanted and she would never know that he wasn’t.  

He could and he would be honest. He would no longer be a man that makes wrong decisions. He would make right decisions. He would—

“Mr. Gold!”

Startled by the outburst behind him, he dropped the fork with which he’d been poking the chicken onto his toe and cursed.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Your shower! It has too many knobs.”

He turned to look at her, and she looked so alarmed, standing there wrapped in a towel, that he had to laugh.

“Coming, sweetheart.”

Once the shower crisis was averted, he left her alone to dress and groom herself. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at the table, each with a bowl of chicken soup and dinner roll. Belle looked like she wanted to ask hundreds of questions, but as soon as the food touched her tongue, she was gone until she had consumed all of it. He brought her seconds, and then thirds, and then she set her spoon down and leaned back.

“I didn’t know I could get this hungry in a few hours.” She laughed. Gold looked at her, unwilling to frown at this statement.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been gone for two days.”

She frowned. “Have I? That must be why I feel like this. I just woke up earlier.”

He gritted his teeth. If they’d let him break down the mine, he’d have found her and woken her days ago.

“Did you hear me calling you?”

She looked up at him. “You were calling me?”

He nodded. “I was outside the whole time, waiting for you. Well.” He closed his eyes, still annoyed about this part. “I was outside until Ruby convinced me to get some rest and then went in and got you herself.”

She reached over and laid her hand atop his. His first instinct was to recoil, because even the smallest touch made him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go, but he didn’t want to offend her, so he stood his ground.

“That was very kind of you. I’m lucky to have someone like you looking out for me.”

He slid his hand out from under hers, but replaced his on top before she could look hurt, and squeezed her fingers.

“And I’m lucky to have you to look out for.”

* * *

 He had wanted to put her in his bed, where he could watch her and hold her and make sure that nothing happened, but since she did not know him, he could not do that to her. The guest room he gave her was large and comfortable, and close enough to his room that he could hear her if she needed anything. He left her there with the door open, making her promise to call for him if she needed anything, and then made his way to his own room.

As he knew would happen, sleep did not come, and he lied awake for several hours, reading. Ruby had mentioned to him that Belle had expressed interest in the library, and he made a mental note to make some inquiries about the building in the morning. Since he couldn’t sleep, he figured that it was useless to keep mental notes, and soon he was up in bed with his notebook and a pen, making a list of things to do and get for Belle.

He was writing _get cell phone_ in his neat, loopy script when he heard it. At first, he thought it was a cat outside, but when his ears adjusted, he realized it was coming from in the house.

“Belle.” He threw his book aside and tore out of bed, reaching for his cane. He was glad that he had kept the silk shirt on tonight, though it wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was naked. There was no way he was going to pause to do anything time-wasting in his haste to get down the hall.

The noise that he had taken for mewling had turned into a dull screech. He recognized it as the screams of nightmares—instead of being as powerful and wrenching as a normal scream, it was dull and fell flat, like the deaf who learn to talk without being able to hear themselves. At this realization, he slowed to a normal walk. When he reached her room, he inched the door open, flooding the room with light from the hall.

Belle was writhing in bed, tangled up in the sheets, hair splayed out everywhere. He limped over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Belle,” he whispered. When she continued to thrash and keen, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Belle.”

Her eyes sprung open and she looked wild for a few seconds, before her eyes fell on him and she relaxed.

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m right here.” He squeezed her shoulder and was surprised when she reached up and gripped his hand.

“I was having a nightmare.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“You were screaming.”

At this, she frowned, and her hand slid from his as she relaxed. “Really? I’ve never screamed before.”

“Do you have nightmares often?” He was afraid he knew the answer to this, and it made him want to plunge his cane into Regina’s face.

“Every night.”

She yelped, and he realized that he had her shoulder in a vice grip. He let go, pulling his hand into his own lap, and tried to breathe.

“Perhaps no one ever told you that you screamed.”

“Perhaps.” She looked down, at the mangled sheets and her sweaty skin, and then reached to straighten things out. He wanted to help, but he was afraid of touching her too much, and so he watched as she settled herself back into the bed, back into a semblance of normalcy. When she was finished, she sighed, smiled, and looked up at him.

“Right,” he said, and started to stand up. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Wait.” She grabbed at his grey sleeve, and he had to sit back down or risk the wrath of his knee.

“Yes, dearie?”

“Will you stay?”

He watched her face. She wasn’t smiling anymore, but looking up at him, pleading. He spent a good half minute scrutinizing her expression, trying to find every nuance of her question and her mood, and just as he was about to answer, she gasped.

“Oh! I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean like _that_. In the _bed_.”

Right. Of course she hadn’t. He forced a smile. “I know, sweetheart. I’ll sit over there.” He gestured with his cane toward a chair in the corner. She smiled in return.

“Thank you. Just for a few minutes—I don’t want to keep you from bed.”

“That’s alright, dearie.” He stood up and started toward the chair. “I wasn’t going to sleep much anyway.”


	4. Chapter 3

Mr. Gold had an agenda for the next day, planned down to the last minute, and Belle ruined it entirely by sleeping in. He understood—he understood that she had been trapped in a mine for two days, was bloodied and bruised and confused, had been kept up by nightmares until dawn—but it hadn’t occurred to him that she would actually sleep past noon. Who did that? Who?

He wished he could transport her bed to his shop so that he could be both occupied and near her, but he knew she would be horrified if she woke up in a strange place, so he sat at his kitchen table for nearly five hours, rising only to refill his coffee cup and make more things for her to eat at her leisure, touching nothing himself.

 When she emerged from the staircase, hair tousled and still in pajamas, he could have strangled her. He could have kissed her. Instead, he picked up the empty mug he’d placed across from himself hours ago, and stood up to brandish it at her.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Good morning, Mr. Gold.” She smiled at him, smoothing her frizzy hair. “What’s that?”

Right. Mental patients were probably not given stimulants.

“How about some tea, dearie?” he said instead of answering.

“Oh, yes, I would love some tea. Is the pink toothbrush in the bathroom mine?” She loped toward the stove, where his ceramic kettle waited. She walked like a ballerina in silk pajamas, and Gold found himself watching her instead of answering.

She picked the kettle up and brought it to the sink to fill with water. “Mr. Gold?”

“Hmm?”

“The pink toothbrush. Is it mine?”

“Oh, yes. Anything pink is yours, dearie. It was easier than labeling.”

She chuckled, turning off the faucet before bringing the kettle over to the stove. “Shall I make breakfast?”

Both of his eyebrows flew up. “Can you cook?”

“Oh.” She pressed a finger to her lip, head upturned in thought. “You know, I don’t know. I feel like I have before, though.”

“Well, whether or not you can is irrelevant, because it is lunch time and I have made at least half a dozen sandwiches for you to choose from.” He took a sip of his coffee, wincing when it was cold.

“My, my, aren’t you a busy little bee.”

She chuckled at her own comment and, seconds later, was humming to herself as she went about fixing herself a cup. He almost wished that he wasn’t trying to keep a tight schedule so that he could watch her wander around the kitchen in his boxers all afternoon. The schedule, however, was non-negotiable, because it contained a few stops to check up on Belle’s health—something that could not wait.

“Belle, why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll finish making your tea?” He had been in his suit since eight sharp.

She turned to him, hum cut off in the bridge of her unfamiliar melody. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“You do. In my closet. Obviously, the dresses are yours, not mine.”

Her laugh made him laugh, but she was wasting daylight by being in good spirits all over the place, and so he was forced to stand and start hurrying her up the stairs. Every few feet, he prodded her with his cane, and she would laugh. Halfway up the stairs, she started stopping so that he would, and at that point, he realized that he needed to go back downstairs, or they would act ridiculous all day and he would never be able to consult a medical professional about her condition.

While she finished her tea and a sandwich, he sat at the table and went over the list in his notebook again and again. Once she announced her readiness, they both got up, and he tried to prepare her for the ride in the car. Had it been nine, when he had planned on leaving, they could have walked, but now time was of the essence and they needed speed.

The trip to the hospital was a cursory one so that no one could say that Gold was not taking care of his charge. He could see the extent of her injuries, could tell that she had no concussions or broken bones, and when they told him everything he already knew, he hastened to whisk her away to the place he knew could provide answers—Archie Hopper’s office.

At first, the label on the door had her backing off.

“You brought me to the psych ward?” she asked, recoiling away from the hand he reached out to her.

“No.” He followed after her. He would be damned if he was going to let her get far enough that he would have to chase her.

“Then what’s this? The door says ‘psychiatrist.’ I can read, you know. I’m not stupid.” She was still backing away, but he reached for her and managed to grab her by the wrist.

“Yes, my dear, this is a psychiatrist’s office. You might not have noticed, but you have amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” she repeated, like she was rolling the word around on her tongue. He gave her a few seconds to consider it, and then she looked back at him. “Yes. I guess I do have amnesia.”

“That’s the only reason we’re here, dearie. Nothing more, nothing less.”

* * *

After Archie had examined her, he looked at Mr. Gold with reproach.

“Mr. Gold, you know exactly why she has no memories.”

“He does?” Belle knit her eyebrows together. She had a cup of tea in her hands, halfway raised to her mouth, and she started to set it down.

“Yes, yes, I know why she’s missing _those_ memories.” Gold waved a hand. “I want to know why she can’t remember last week. A few days ago. My face.”

“Which memories?” Belle looked from one man to the other. “Which memories do you know I’m missing?”

“All in good time, dearie. All in good time.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” Archie nodded, chin resting in the L of his thumb and forefinger. “Well, I don’t think that one has anything to do with magic. When she was in the mines, she suffered a head trauma and probably some psychological trauma as well, and her mind’s just blocked it out.”

“Just like that?” Gold raised his hands as if to simulate the suddenness. “Her mind just ‘blocked it out?’”

“The brain works in mysterious ways, Mr. Gold.” Archie shrugged. “Who am I to try and explain its mysteries?”

The only reason that Gold kept all of his biting remarks to himself was because he had a soft spot for Hopper. He was the only person that he felt able to talk to—other than Belle, of course.

“Wonderful.” He stood up. “Well, that’ll be all. I’ll mail you a check tomorrow.”

“Stop by any time, Mr. Gold.” Archie stood up as well, the smile on his face as genuine as if Gold weren’t in the room, and he were smiling only at Belle.

“Yes, thank you. Come along, Belle.” He raised a hand in expectation of putting it on the small of her back, and was not disappointed when she rose.

“It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Hopper,” Belle said, ducking her head in a polite bow. Archie returned the gesture.

“Please, call me Archie. If you ever need anything, feel free to give me a call.”

Gold tried to quash the feeling that lurched up into his chest—it was logical for a psychiatrist to offer his services to someone with amnesia. He was not trying to encroach upon his territory. He was just doing his job—and being Archie Hopper.

“Thank you,” Belle said, while Mr. Gold remained silent, ushering her out.

When they were outside, Belle’s complacency ended, and she whirled to face him with her arms folded and her eyes alight with the battle fire he remembered. He braced himself.

“Yes, dearie?”

“Why don’t I have my memories? And what does it have to do with magic?”

He hesitated. He wanted to tell her, he really did, but he couldn’t think of a way to tell her that didn’t sound ridiculous. What was he going to say? ‘ _Ah, yes, your memories. Well, darling, you actually used to be in a magical land called the Enchanted Forest, and then you were cursed and brought here._ ’ She may not have been as hardened as Emma Swan, but she was sane, and any sane person would have the same reaction that she’d had.

That thought, however, gave him an idea of how to explain everything to her.

“I will tell you. I promise.” Which, okay, was sort of a lie, because with this plan, he had no intentions of being the one to tell her what had happened, but at least she would know, and that was what mattered. This was not an occasion of him toying with words. It was just buying time.

“When?”

He looked at his watch. Henry should be out of school by then, and he was not a difficult boy to find.

“Soon, sweetheart. Let’s go get some food, shall we?” He put his hand out again, gesturing forward, and when she gave a gusty sigh and grudgingly turned, he settled the hand on her back and guided her forward.

Granny’s did not disappoint. Sitting at the bar was none other than Henry Mills, drinking his usual mug of cocoa. When they walked in, Ruby was at Belle’s side like she’d smelled her coming.

“Belle!”

“Ruby!” Belle gave her a loving smile, and it made Gold’s heart hurt to see it used on anyone else. “I am so glad to see you. I was hoping I would get the chance to thank you.”

“Please. Anything for a friend like you.” Ruby picked up two menus with a smile, her gaze staying carefully away from Gold. He almost rolled his eyes.

“I’m so sorry that I don’t remember our friendship.” Belle chewed her lip. “But I’m sure I will soon.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do you wanna sit at the bar?”

Before Belle could answer, Gold stepped in. “No. We’ll have a booth.”

Ruby dragged her gaze to him and her face soured, but she took the menus and started toward the booth in the corner. Belle sat down, but Gold remained standing.

“I’ll be right back.”

Belle nodded, though she looked confused. “Okay. Are you going far?”

He shook his head. “Just over there.”

She nodded again, giving him a small smile. He returned it and then limped his way over to Henry’s seat. The boy didn’t notice him until he had been sitting in the adjacent stool for a few seconds.

“Mr. Gold! What are you doing here?”

“Believe it or not, dearie, I, too, eat food.”

Henry did not look amused, folding his arms and looking down his nose, but Gold thought he was being clever and allowed himself a small, private chuckle.

“Are you here alone?” Henry asked, looking around.

Gold shook his head. “I think you know who I’m here with.”

“Belle.” Gold nodded. “If you’re here with Belle, what are you doing with me?”

“Ah, I was hoping you could—do me a favor.” He hated asking favors, even from children. He never asked a price from Henry and he never would, but that didn’t stop him from recoiling at the sound of his voice asking for a handout.

“What is it?” Henry asked, understandably wary as he took a sip of his cocoa and acquired a frothy whipped cream mustache.

“I need you to explain to Belle who she is.”

Henry looked taken aback. “Why me?”

His next sentence was a delicate operation. He didn’t want to offend Henry with the truth—that the explanation would be adorable coming from a child, and ridiculous coming from him. So, he settled for the truth-ish.

“You’re just so darn good at it, dearie.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “What’s the real reason?”

Mr. Gold pursed his lips, and then sighed, leaning toward Henry conspiratorially. “All right, the truth?” Henry nodded. “She’s getting antsy and I’m not sure where to begin.”

Henry continued to nod his understanding. “And I guess it’s kind of weird to tell someone you’re their true love.”

Gold’s eyes widened and he shook his head, lowering his voice even more. “No, Henry, you mustn’t tell her that she loved me.”

Henry frowned at this, tilting his head to the side. “Why not? Don’t you want her to remember?”

“Remember, yes. But I don’t want it forced on her.” This was something he knew that Henry didn’t understand—the boy was fond of putting people and their true loves together when at least one party had no idea.

“Does she know you love her?” Henry asked, face still scrunched in a frown.

“I haven’t told her, no.”

It didn’t seem that Henry could tell the difference between this statement and a flat negative, however, and he just continued to look confused.

“Why not?”

Talking about his feelings to anyone was probably one of the worst things in the world. Talking about his feelings to a ten year old boy with a hero complex made him wish he could just turn himself into a snail and slug away.

“Because the Rumpelstiltskin in me loves Belle as much as the Mr. Gold does, but it’s unrequited because she doesn’t remember.”

“But she can remember again, Mr. Gold,” Henry said, leaning back in surprise, as though this should have been obvious. “True Love’s Kiss can break any curse.”

“Ah, yes.” Gold leaned back, steepling his fingers together. “But that requires both parties to be truly in love, and, as she does not remember me, that isn’t going to happen.”

But it did get the cogs in his head working—if Belle fell in love with him, if it turned out that they were truly meant to be, then he could kiss her and she would get her memories, and know that he had changed for her. This True Love’s Kiss business was serious, and he needed to make sure that their kiss happened at just the right time. There could be nothing before he was certain—before she was certain—that she truly wanted to love him.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this day ends after this chapter. Forreal.

Henry had told Belle, and while the two were at the diner having the conversation, Gold had acquired the library. Since it was an abandoned building, it hadn’t cost much, though that didn’t matter because he would have traded his entire life to get it for her. She had yet to mention an interest in books to him, but perhaps the thought hadn’t crossed her mind since the accident. Recalling the way she had been curious about everything in his castle, he hoped she would love it whether she remembered that she loved books or not.

He picked her up from the diner an hour later, the key to the library in a ribbon-wrapped box in his jacket pocket. It being a gift, wrapped and everything, was his tiny way of bribing her to not be mad at him for not telling her himself.

When Belle walked toward him out of the diner, however, she did not look angry at all. On the contrary, she gave him a smile so happy, he felt like she was ripping his heart out.

“You had a good time, I take it?” he asked, turning to indicate the direction in which he planned to walk.

“Oh, Henry and I had a wonderful time! He is precious. Thank you so much for introducing us.” She slipped her hand around his elbow, and Mr. Gold tripped at the contact. She made it seem like such a natural gesture that he wondered if there was something she did remember—he didn’t relish the idea that she was just this comfortable with all almost-strangers.

“He is that.” He recovered by gripping his cane in both hands, giving her the chance to make her grip more secure or remove her hand entirely. She squeezed his elbow.

“Do you know, he thinks I’m in a fairy tale?”

She was amused by this fact, chuckling and shaking her head, and Gold started to wonder at his decision to let Henry break the news.

“Am I to take it he didn’t convince you?”

She let out a honk of laughter, and then covered her mouth while her cheeks reddened. “Of course not. That would be silly. I read all of those fairy tales when I was locked up—fairy tales were something they considered safe, I guess.”

“All of them?” He frowned. Regina couldn’t have been so careless as to let Belle read about her own life, could she?

“Well, I did read _Beauty and the Beast_ , but certainly not the one he described.”

“Ah, so not the one with Rumpelstiltskin, then?”

He tried not to watch her to see if this triggered a reaction, but he had to look when all she did was laugh.

“Rumpelstiltskin?” she repeated, pressing a hand to her mouth. “The imp who ripped himself in half?”

“I can assure you, dearie, that he most certainly did not.”

She turned to face him, studying his expression, eyes narrowing in thought. He looked back as honestly as he could, while still maintaining the wryness of his expression. If it turned out that she didn’t believe him, he wanted to at least make it seem like he had been intentionally pulling her leg.

“You don’t honestly believe that you’re Rumpelstiltskin, do you?” She didn’t look so sure in her amusement anymore, and was watching him with half-narrowed eyes.

“I don’t have to believe, dearie.”

“But—you’re so—” She looked at him, mouth pressed in a wide line while she struggled for the words. He waited for the inevitable things that Belle would say— _kind, wealthy, helpful—_ that he would then have to refute because it was just his way.

“So?”

“Tall!”

Mr. Gold stopped walking for a second, almost certain that he hadn’t heard her correctly. Of all the details to pick out, only Belle would think of his height. He pressed his lips together to keep from doing anything ungentlemanly, like snort.  

“I’m not very tall, you know. Average, really.”

“Taller than me,” she retorted.

“Not by much, dearie.”

She looked at him, corners of her eyes wrinkled with mirth again. “Fine, you’re short. Does that make you happy, Rumpelstiltskin?”

He pointed a finger at her, like he was about to scold her, and she pressed her lips together, hastening to make her face look serious.

“Now, there’ll be none of this ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ business until you remember it for real. Understand?”

She nodded, lips still pressed together, and when he continued to look at her with all of the seriousness he could muster, she burst into fit of chuckles. He feigned disdain, turning to face the road instead of her, until she had calmed down enough to start walking again.

“So,” she said, after walking a few seconds. “You think you’re Rumpelstiltskin, then?”

“I don’t think, dearie.” He shook his head at her. “I know. Just like your friend Ruby knows she’s Red and the Sherriff knows he’s Prince Charming.”

“And I don’t know because I hit the barrier?” She folded her arms, tugging him along with her because she still had one looped through his elbow. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his knee, but there was no way he was going to protest being pressed this tightly against her.

“In the mines, yes. You’re a curious girl, Belle. Did you never think to ask why you were in a mine?”

She was quiet for a few seconds, and when he glanced at her, she did not look pleased by his swift thievery of the upper hand.

“It didn’t really occur to me. I was too hungry.”

“Of course, dearie.” He patted her on the shoulder while she loosened her arms, allowing him to steady himself.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“If you’re willing to pay the price,” he said, turning to her with the most serious expression he had worn in the past two days. When her eyes widened in alarm, however, he could no longer keep it up and he chuckled.

“Please. Ask away. I’m surprised you asked permission.”

“Well, I’m afraid that this question might offend you, that’s all.” She was careful not to meet his eyes, even as he peered at her to try and ascertain what this question might be.

“I promise not to be offended.” Though he could promise no such thing—he could only promise to not show it if he was.

“Is there a way that you can—prove that you’re Rumpelstiltskin? That this whole place is cursed or whatever it is now?”

She looked up at him, chewing the side of her lip, and he felt a surge of relief that this had been her ‘offensive’ question. Proof, he had.

“Of course.” He stopped walking and removed her hand from his elbow, placing it on her side. For a few seconds, he looked around, trying to find a suitable object on which to prove his identity.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, but he only shushed her in response. After half a minute, his eyes fell upon an abandoned newspaper.

“That’ll do.” He bent down and picked it up, then handed it to Belle, who looked baffled. “Now, dearie, if you’ll hold that up in front of your face.”

“Like this?” She raised it until he could only see the tops of her curls above the pages.

“Perfect. Now, keep your eyes open and watch.”

“How can I watch? I can’t see—ooh!”

He couldn’t help but smile at her reaction. The newspaper in her hand was now a single, red rose, and she was staring at it as though she wasn’t sure what it was. With a pang, Gold realized that this might be true.

“A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman,” he said, and his voice was huskier than he’d meant it to be. Why had he said that? She was going to think it was weird.

“I love roses.” The words tumbled out with her breath, and her grip on the stem tightened. “I don’t know how I know that, because I don’t remember ever seeing one, but I know that I love them.” When she looked up at him, he knew he would have said a thousand weird, creepy things just to see that look on her face.

“You always did,” he said, quiet. Belle looking at him the way she was made him want to press his lips to hers, to press her against the wall of the Laundromat next to them and feel her, strong and warm beneath him. He turned forward and offered his elbow to her again, licking his lips to keep them from getting too dry.

“Mr. Gold?” she asked once they’d been walking for another minute.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“How did we know each other?”

There were so many things he could have said.

_I won you in a deal._

_You were a hero._

_I loved you._

_You loved me._

“You were my housekeeper.”

“Housekeeper?” She sounded almost indignant, her voice rising to be shrill enough that he wanted to inch away.

“Yes, dearie. You dusted my collectibles.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and this made her look a little less ruffled.

“And here I was, thinking you were going to say something normal, like I was your niece or something.”

He almost choked on his own tongue. “My _niece_?” How could she assume that they were family?

“Well, it didn’t seem like you wanted me to say father,” she said, looking appropriately sheepish at the suggestion.

“Niece isn’t much better, dearie.”

“Yes, but housekeeper? Really?”

He was about to retort when he saw  her face shift, like she was looking at a puzzle he couldn’t see that she was trying to piece together. He waited.

“Do you care for all your housekeepers this much?”

He considered the question. He could have just said ‘no,’ but that seemed a bit too confessional. So, instead, he shook his head and said, “There’s never been another housekeeper.”

* * *

 

He should never have taken her clothes shopping. Mr. Gold prided himself on his knowledge of a great many things, but there were some things he simply could not do. He couldn’t, for instance, clasp a bra, untangle a mass of dress straps, or wrap a wraparound dress just right, and even if he could have done any of those things, he wouldn’t have gone into the dressing room to do them for Belle.

Instead, he had to leave her at the mercy of the saleswoman working the expensive boutique, and she was so concerned with making a commission from someone as rich as Gold that she would have been willing to throw a tarp over Belle’s head and insist that she looked beautiful. In the end, Gold had whisked Belle away with a few well-placed barbs at the saleswoman, purchasing nothing.

By the time they were outside and ready to walk to the car, Belle looked droopy and miserable.

“I’m sorry that I ruined your shopping trip.” Her voice was so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her. When he did, he made an angry noise in his throat, something between a growl and a snort.  

“It wasn’t you, it was that woman. Besides, this trip wasn’t for me, dearie. Did you see me trying anything on?”

“I suppose not, no.” She glanced up at him, and her eyes looked watery.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He stopped walking and turned her to face him. He wished he could cup her cheek, or brush the ghosts of tears from her eyes, but all he felt comfortable doing was resting his hands on her shoulders, firm enough to show he meant business. “Don’t be upset. Tomorrow—tomorrow, you’ll ask Ruby if she’d like to go shopping with you. You’ll have more fun that way anyway, and she’ll be far more helpful than that greedy woman.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “That does sound fun. But I still feel bad for ruining your night. You were so determined to find something for me.”

“Dearie,” he began, forcing as much bravado and sharpness into his voice as possible, “it would not upset me at all if you had to spend your days naked.”

He dropped his hands as she laughed, ducking her head to hide the pink flush in her cheeks.

“Fine. As long as you’re not upset, I’m not upset.”

“Good.” He smiled, as genuine as it ever got with him, and reached into his pocket. “And now, I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” She scrunched her nose in confusion, watching him remove the tiny, ring-shaped box from his breast pocket. “For me?”

“You are very good at repeating things, dearie.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he had to press his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Consider it a welcome home present.”

He handed it to her, and when she took it from him, her fingers brushed across his—slow, soft, and otherwise untouchable. It made his heart pound.

“What is it?” she asked, bringing the box up to her eyes to squint.

“You’ll just have to open it, dearie. But remember—” He placed a hand over the one in which she held the box, and she looked up to meet his eyes. “—everything has a price.”

“It does?” She looked nervous by this, and he smiled to show that he was teasing. She would soon learn again to understand his obscure sense of humor.

“I’ll tell you the price once you’ve opened the box.” He slid his hand off of hers, trying not to make note of how much he wanted to keep it there.

When she was free, she pulled the ribbon to undo the bow, and then raised the lid. Frowning, she lifted the key that was inside.

“A key?” she asked, tilting her head to look at it.

“Flip it over,” he said, the picture of patience.

She twirled the key until its other side was facing her, and when she did, she gasped. “The key to the library? Won’t the librarian be angry?”

“I don’t know, dearie, let’s ask her.” He looked around for a few seconds, as if looking for said librarian, and then allowed his gaze to fall back on her. “Are you angry with me for giving out the key to your library?”

She gasped again, eyes growing. “My library?”

“All yours. You can open it to the public or simply hoard it all away for yourself.” There was also an apartment above it, for the caretaker, but he didn’t want to mention that just yet. He would save it for when the time felt right—when he was sure that she would rather live with him.

She let out a high-pitched squeal, and he grimaced. “How did you know that I love books?”

“You mentioned it before your—accident.”

Though her face fell at the mention, she perked up quickly and grabbed his hand. He almost fell on his face with surprise, though he blamed his stumble on his bad knee.

“Can we go see it right now? Please?”

Even if that hadn’t been his intention all along, the look she was giving him now would have gotten him to agree to anything, no matter how horrible or unpleasant.

“Of course. That was my price all along, sweetheart.”

With another squeal of delight, she started to tug him toward the car, less afraid now that she had the perfect destination in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, if there's anything that anyone wants to see happen--or if you feel like fucking over my writing and throwing me a curveball--don't be shy! Speak your mind [and stroke my ego by commenting].


	6. Don't Make Frowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, sorry this took so long. Also, is everyone freaking out about last night's episode/all the episode previews? I'm dying a little. So much dying. 
> 
> Also, I'm starting the lyric thing. This one brought to you by [Regina Spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCvgXmg0m1g). Everyone should be glad it wasn't Ludacris. Because it will be. Eventually. >>
> 
> Anyway, here's a chapter 

It was easy to fall into a routine with Belle, just as they had fallen into a routine the last time they’d lived together. He would come home from the shop and she would be there, dinner waiting on the table. Most of the time, it was something she’d picked up from Granny’s. After they ate, they would watch TV—he had shown it to her on the third day, and she had taken an immediate liking to the Food Network and the Game Show Network. After, she would curl up next to him on the couch and read, while he went over his books and accounts.

When it was time for bed, she would kiss him on the cheek and insist that she would sleep through the whole night. It was usually about two hours after that, about the time sleep came for Gold, that he would be awakened by her dull screeching. She had told him, after the second night, to ignore it if he could, and so he had tried. He found that he could not, though, and so he had a system—when he awoke, he would go downstairs and make her a cup of tea. If she was done screaming by the time he finished, then she was fine. She had never been done screaming.

With the cup of tea, he would make his way to her room and awaken her. Then, he would sit and read to her while she drank, and until she fell asleep. He refused to read the books she picked out for herself—things like _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Love in the Time of Cholera_ were not books that he cared to have read aloud in his voice. Instead, they picked these books out together, and in the past few days, they had gotten almost through _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , and were preparing to start _Gulliver’s Travels_.

It was also easy for Belle to fall ill. As distressed as it made him, Gold was surprised that it had taken so long to happen. For a girl who had spent her whole life in this new world locked up, she had a strong immune system. By all rights, hitting the curse and being unconscious for two days should have given her pneumonia, at the least. This bout of the flu was almost a blessing.

He remembered the time that Bae was sick. Back then—and especially for someone as poor as Rumpelstiltskin had been—even the most minor of colds could be a death sentence, and he remembered sitting vigil at Bae’s bedside, and packing blankets and hot bricks around him to sweat the fever out. Belle’s flu was probably much worse than Bae’s sickness had been, but at the time, it had seemed like the gods were punishing them.

Even so, he found himself just as fretful as he had been with his boy. It had started with a sore throat, and Gold had forced her to drink tea and honey for a day straight before the rest of the symptoms hit her like a runaway freight train.

He had begged her to let him heal her—just a tiny bit of magic and she would have been better. Her excuse, however, had been that she’d read about immune systems and vaccinations on the first day of the symptoms, and she knew that she would be far more susceptible to disease if she didn’t wait this out.

Sometimes, he wanted to wring her neck for being so stubborn.

He refused to go against her wishes, since every time he considered it, her words flashed in his brain. _You toy with words like you toy with people_. This may not have been at the same scale, but he wanted it known, when she got her memories back, that he was even willing to let her dictate the way he cared for her. This time.

The one good thing about this flu was that it seemed to have cured her nightmares for the time being. She was too busy coughing and wheezing in her sleep for her subconscious to bother her.

“Sweetheart,” he said, brushing a hand across her damp forehead. It was 3 a.m. She’d been asleep since dinner time. “I’ve heated some soup. Do you want it?”

She shook her head, eyes closed. He pulled his hand away with a sigh, and her eyes opened, watching his hand move away.

“Belle, you have to eat. You’ll never get better if you starve.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“Belle—”

“Your hand felt nice. On my forehead.”

Which was all it took for Gold to stop talking.

* * *

 

He slept in the chair by her bed, hand resting on her forehead while he dozed off. Every time she coughed, he woke with a start, and then he would stroke her hair until she was soothed, and they both would fall asleep again. This went on until sunrise, when Gold woke of his own accord to find Belle with the comforter drawn to her chin, staring at him.

“What? What’s wrong?” He pulled his hand back and looked around, unsure of what he was expecting to see, but certain that something must have been there.

“You were in that chair all night.” She was still whispering, since she didn’t have much of a voice, and he had to strain to hear her.

“You needed me.”

She shook her head. It broke his heart. It must have shown on his face, because her eyes widened seconds later and her head shaking became more vigorous.

“I mean, of course I need you. But I don’t need you getting sick. You need to sleep.”

He appreciated her attempt at repairs. It did make him feel a little better, but he still knew, deep down, that she just saw him as the nice man taking care of his caretaker.

“I did sleep.” He forced a smile, looking away as he did. “Don’t worry.”

She wrinkled her nose toward him and then, for reasons Gold could not understand, patted the bed next to her. He stared at her, uncomprehending, glancing away every few seconds to see if there was something to give him a clue.

“What? Do you need something? New sheets? Another blanket?”

She pressed her lips into a flat line, giving him a look that was not quite a glare, and then patted the bed with more urgency.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders because he was at a loss.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re wrong.” She shook her head at him, corners of her lips twitching with amusement.

“Wrong about what?”

“Get in this bed right now.” She furrowed her brow, looking like a strict librarian.

Gold almost choked on his tongue. “What?” Had that really been what she meant?

“You need to sleep. So get in this bed and sleep.”

Sometimes, he wanted to kiss her for being so stubborn.

Not daring to believe that this wasn’t some sort of joke, Gold spent every step preparing himself for when she told him off, or rebuked him for not recognizing her humor. When he made it to the other edge of the bed and she still hadn’t spoken, he forced down the blossom of hope that bloomed up in his chest, and turned the quilt down.

Once he was in, he gave into a few more seconds of self-pity before allowing that Belle was not going to push him away—she was, in fact, reaching for him.

“Is this how you sleep all the time? All stiff and uncovered?” she asked. Her hands, instead of landing on him, went for the comforter, pulling it up to tuck around him and under his chin.

“No, I don’t—what are you doing? Stop that—I can’t see you if you—no, that’s not—Belle—!”

Belle laughed and pulled the comforter off his face. When he glared up at her, pursing his lips to keep from chuckling himself, she had her mouth pressed in a thin line—the child who knew she was misbehaving, and that she was too adorable to be punished for it.

“You looked uncomfortable,” she said, voice hoarse now that she was no longer whispering.

“So you wanted to smother me, eh? Put me out of my misery?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, it’s going to take more than a blanket and your dainty hands to kill me, dearie.”

At this, she smiled. Her face was pale, her hair looked like it had been brushed backwards in a lightning storm, and her nose was bright red, but she looked beautiful. Because her hands were still holding the quilt near his chest, he chanced to reach for one. He ran the pads of his fingers over her thumb, down the side of her palm, until he could slip them under and lift it, not daring to look at her face until he had touched his lips to the tips of her fingers. She wasn’t smiling anymore, but she didn’t look unhappy. She was watching him, gaze drifting between her hand and his eyes, like she was considering all the variables before drawing a conclusion.

“Or maybe that’s all it takes,” he said, and he sounded like his throat was made of gravel.

“I’ll be careful with my hands.” She was whispering again, still watching him. “And try not to let them kill you in your sleep.”

He closed his eyes and inclined his head toward her. “I will be eternally in your debt.”

He could feel her shifting around, and he tried not to droop at the fact that she was leaving to get more comfortable. Once she was settled, however, she slipped her hand through his.

* * *

 

Later that afternoon found Mr. Gold having to drag himself away from his house, where Belle would be left alone for the rest of the afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but there were some people he needed to see, and Belle had insisted he not stay home on her account, so he had given her explicit instructions to call him if she needed anything—even if she just needed someone else to put the kettle on the stove.

His first stop was the police station, in the hopes that he could catch David off guard, and not have to make it seem like he was seeking out his company. Of course, he wasn’t there, because he was never there, so Gold was forced to call him and arrange  a meeting for the next half hour. David had suggested lunch—probably to be nice—but Gold was more uncomfortable with that than he was willing to admit, so he told him that Belle was sick, and he couldn’t be gone for too long.

Soon, he was sitting across from David, one knee crossed over the other, hands resting atop his cane. They had the desk between them, which comforted Gold, and probably put David at ease as well.

“So, how’s Belle?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s fine.” Gold tried not to look impatient—he needed to get this conversation over with, but he didn’t want David to know that and be able to lord it over him.

“I thought she was sick?”

Gold pursed his lips. “Other than coming down with the black death, she’s fine.”

“The black death? Really?” David folded his arms, lips pursed. Gold wanted to hit him with his cane—not in a violent way, but in a way that he knew made him feel like an old curmudgeon.

“Yes, she could be melted by the end of the week. Now, can we get down to business, dearie?”

David leaned forward. “What’s your business?”

“Moe French.”

They regarded each other—one cool, indifferent, and waiting, the other with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“What about him?” David asked.

“Where is he, and what did you do to punish him?” It pained him to ask both of those questions, because he would have much preferred to find him, and beat him until he was skinny, but Belle would have, in turn, killed him with disappointment and hurt.

“He’s at home. I gave it to him pretty good.”

Gold narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher this sentence. “So what does that mean? You broke a few bones? Gave him a black eye?”

“Oh, I tore him a new one.”

David looked pretty pleased with himself, but Gold was fighting the urge to be a bit more violent with his cane now. He spent a half minute staring at David, trying to compose himself. When he did, his voice came out like he was yelling, but it was too quiet.

“So, what you are saying, dearie, is that you yelled at him?”

“And—” David raised a finger, and Gold leaned back in his chair to wait for his addendum. “—he spent a night in jail, has a court date, and will probably have to pay a fine.”

Gold smacked the table. “That man is in debt up to his eyeballs. To me. _I’ll_ be paying that fine.”

David nodded along, puckering his lips in thought. “I didn’t consider that, you’re right. But I’m sure the DA will think of something.”

“Oh, the DA who wants you dead?”

David gritted his teeth. “He may want me dead, but he’s still the DA. He’ll be fair.”

Gold leaned forward. “I don’t want him to be fair, dearie. I want that bastard to rot—in jail, in Hell, in a shallow grave, I don’t care. But if the DA doesn’t take care of it, I will.”


	7. I've Been Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, I am so so sorry that this chapter took forever and a day to post. I had a bit of it written, and then my pc was like LOL DID U WNT 2 SAVE THIS? And then it deleted it and I got cranky and ignored it for awhile, until I watched last night's episode and died, as I'm sure everyone else did. So then I had to write this. And I'm sorry it's short, but I was just in the mood for some nice, fluffy Rumbelle and I needed a transition for the next chapter, which I do have planned and which should be up soon :D [/run-on]. SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY because I had a lot of fun writing it, after I stopped wanting to punch MS word in the face.
> 
> Lyrics brought to you by Avril Lavigne (What the Hell), because I am lame and I love her. I would link, but last time I did that, it wouldn't let me edit my notes any more. So. Yes. That. 
> 
> ENJOY, ILY ALL <3

That was not the last night that Belle slept next to Mr. Gold. For the next few nights during which she was still incapacitated with the flu, she slept in her own bed, and until she got better, Gold got a few blessed nights of uninterrupted sleep. This was especially good, because he’d had to spend those days away from Belle, using all the knowledge and skill he had to bring back Emma and Mary Margaret.

The first night that she slept without the aid of decongestants was the first night that her nightmares returned. Gold had not missed being awakened past midnight to make tea, but he did not complain as he dragged himself out of bed and limped downstairs. Because he usually couldn’t hear her when he was on the first floor, it didn’t bother him that her coughing silenced while he waited for the kettle to whistle. When it did, he could hear even less, as was usual, and he supposed that this was how he missed the footsteps on the stairs.

When he turned and saw Belle standing behind him, wrapped in his robe, he almost dropped the kettle.

“Belle!” He wanted to press a hand to his pounding heart, but he had more class and manliness than that, so he just clutched the tea kettle hard enough to hurt his fingers. “Go back to bed, sweetheart. I’m coming.” He raised the kettle toward her.

“I can’t.”

He watched her finger the edge of the robe, not meeting his eyes. Her hair was mussed from the tossing and turning she always did, the side of it sticking up in an arc that would have made him chuckle, if she didn’t look so serious. After setting the kettle down, he limped a step toward her

“What’s wrong, darling?” He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he kept his hands to himself, staring at her as though his eyes could hug her instead.

She was quiet for a few seconds, wringing her hands together in front of her, twisting her fingers until it was hard to tell which ones were on which hand. When she looked up at him, he thought he would break.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

His breath caught, and he wasn’t sure what she meant by this. Did she mean during the day? If she asked, he would close the shop and stay home with her forever. Or he could insist that she come with him to the shop—she was too nice and naïve to be good for business, but she would enjoy looking at all of the trinkets, and it was a nice, quiet place to read.  

“You’re not alone, sweetheart.” It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

“Mr. Gold, I was alone for so long. You either have to keep drugging me, or—” She looked down at her hands, watching them twist and writhe in front of her.

“Knock you out?” he suggested, raising the kettle as if to hit her with it, but smiling to show that he was joking.

She allowed a small chuckle to light her face, and when she looked up at him, she didn’t seem quite as lost. “Stay with me?”

Gold jerked in surprise while trying to lower the kettle, causing his forearm muscle to spasm and seize. He hastened to transfer arms, but Belle, observant as she was, reached to remove it from him, rubbing his arm to soothe him. The touch, coupled with her request, made him feel like an artery near his thrashing heart would burst.

With her moving to put the kettle back on the stove, he had time to compose himself, and he shook his shoulders out so that his hands could rest lazily on the head of his cane. By the time he and Belle were again facing each other, he was Mr. Gold, composed antiques dealer, landlord, and loan shark—in purple silk pajamas.

Belle waited and watched his face, done twisting her fingers for the moment. “Well?”

“No.” He shook his head, watching her face fall with little more than a twinge of guilt. He had to keep himself from his Rumpelstiltskin grin, the one he had given her the first time they’d ever met, when he’d shown her to her ‘room.’

“Oh. I’m—”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He shrugged his shoulders, the nonchalant dealmaker watching his prey squirm in front of him. “There is no way that I will stay with you in the guest room.”

Belle’s finger twisting had started again, but it stopped at his last words, and when she looked up at him again, there was a glint in her eyes that he found charming in more places than he cared to admit.

“Where would you stay with me?”

“It’s only fitting for the master of the house to stay in the master bedroom, wouldn’t you agree, dearie?” Tea forgotten, he offered her his seizing arm—he would need his good one to use the cane.

“Am I about to find out that your bed is far more comfortable than mine?” she asked, leading him up the stairs, despite the fact that she was hanging on his arm and not vice versa.

“Perhaps. It was, after all, the only one that got any use for twenty-eight years.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t need a comfortable guest bed if you weren’t having any guests.” She squeezed his arm.

Once they made it to his room, they stood on either side of the bed, neither looking at the other and neither making the first move to get in. Gold wanted to let her do it, to follow her and make sure he wasn’t overstepping his boundaries, but it occurred to him that, since it was his, she might have been feeling the same way. He supposed that, just this once, he could take control, so he sat on the edge and started to work his way into a comfortable position. By the time he was on his back, Belle was in bed, on her side, watching him.

“Is it satisfactory, darling?”

She shifted onto her back, and he had the sinking feeling that she hated it and was trying to find a nice way to tell him. Then, however, she slipped her hand through his, setting his whole arm on fire.

“It is now.”

* * *

 

He couldn’t bring himself to accompany Belle to Mary Margaret and Emma’s welcome home party. He wanted to, had even been invited by a begrudging Ruby when she’d come to the shop to invite Belle, but he was too much of a coward to walk into a party like that and allow himself to have a good time. As much as he was nasty, he didn’t want to ruin their fun, and the best way to not do that was to not be there. Even when Belle had begged him, he had been forced to say no, dribbling out some excuse that he had to have a business meeting, even though everyone who was anyone in Storybrooke was going to be at the diner.

About an hour before Ruby had planned to come pick Belle up, Gold was roused out of his book by a shriek of his name from the bathroom. He fumbled for his cane and then limped as fast as his legs could carry him, hopping part of the way when he couldn’t get his knee to sit right.

“Belle?” he roared, throwing the door open so hard, it bounced against the wall and he had to dodge its return. When he saw her, he almost wished that the door had knocked him out. He let out a noise that was a cross between a whimper and a scream, a noise that he was going to pretend—for the rest of his life—had never come out of his mouth.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here.” She stood in front of the mirror, wearing only lingerie that he was certain he had not purchased for her. He made a mental note to stab Ruby Lucas someday, in revenge for giving him this heart attack.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding harsher than he had meant. His breath was ragged and he was both unable to look directly at her and unable to look away. She was perfect standing there, her underwear made of cerulean lace and not much else. He forced himself to hold a hand over his eyes.

“Well, I was trying to curl my hair, but as you can see, I’m a bit stuck.”

He could not see this, because it was hard to get his eyes to travel past her collarbone. He wanted nothing more than to rip the garments off with his teeth, but he tried to quell those primal urges, and focus more on things like the fact that he was almost certain he would need to be rushed to a hospital to have his vitals stabilized.

“Stuck?” he repeated, not sure that he could form words. Best to just repeat hers.

“Well, you can’t help me if you don’t look.”

It didn’t seem to occur to her that she was wearing one shirt too few for him to be comfortable, and he wondered in passing if she wasn’t doing this on purpose, as some sort of punishment or tease. At her request, he lowered his hand, careful to keep his fingers over her torso so that he could only see her neck and up. This calmed his heart a little bit.

“Oh, my. You seem to be in quite a predicament, don’t you, dearie?”

He wasn’t sure how he had missed it, now that he couldn’t see her lingerie. Belle had a lot of hair, a lot more hair than Gold had ever had to deal with, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it now. It was probable, however, that he had the upper hand in this situation, being that both of his were free. He did not know how it had happened, but one of her hands was trapped in a handcuff of her own hair, locked in place with the curling iron. The other hand was useless to liberate her, because the handle was sticking out the opposite side. Her scalp must have been sore by then, getting worse with every second that he gawked.

“I don’t know what happened, and I’ve burned my hand so many times. Help?” She turned toward him and bit her lip.

Taking care to keep his eyes above her neck, he lowered his hand and limped his way over. Untangling her was simple enough—he could reach the handle just fine, and then it was only a matter of figuring out how to remove it without burning her. Once it was gone, he couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle in front of him. Since it had been there for at least two minutes, her hair had all but cemented itself in its handcuff shape, the loop sticking out from the back of her head like an ugly, hair-colored hat.

“What?” she asked, stretching her arm. “What’s wrong?” She turned her head to see in the mirror and then shrieked. He had not known Belle to be vain, but he supposed anyone would be when faced with such a disaster. He couldn’t stop himself from continuing to chuckle, both at her hair and her horror.

“How did you get yourself into this mess, darling?” He tried fixing the mess by running his hands through her hair, but this only resulted in him moving it, and it also gave him a sharp stab in various regions of his body, so he took a step back.

“I watched a video on the, um, net, and it looked so easy.” She turned to him, blue eyes imploring. “Can you fix it?”

“If you put clothes on,” he said before he could stop himself.

She froze, and then tilted her head down to look at herself as though just seeing her body for the first time. Then, she flushed scarlet, and the color went all the way down to the tops of her breasts—not that Gold was looking or anything.

“I’ll just go get dressed, then,” she mumbled, no longer meeting his eyes. “Meet you back here in five?”

“It’s a date, dearie.” He grinned, an unintentionally wolfish gesture, and he felt a sense of savage pleasure when her blushed deepened and she all but scurried out of the room.


	8. A Man's Soul and Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, because it's long as hell and I didn't want to edit it tonight, but then I got really fucking excited about it, and I had to post it because--well, hopefully, you'll see. I'm just really excited right now. Also it's really long. So I apologize. Or you're welcome? Depending on your feelings on this matter. 
> 
> Annnnyway, I'm pretty much in a writing coma right now, and also I played tennis yesterday, so it's hard to do anything but sit and write because my legs are dying. So, that's probably more than you cared to know, but I'm just really excited (and I had some wine), so I'm babbling.
> 
> Oh, also, I have two disclaimers:  
> 1\. This is like, my final nod to the canon timeline. I know no one reading has a problem with me fucking it up, but I've never done this before and it's giving me OCD, so I have to apologize for it. Also, I'm under the impression that [SPOILER ALERT FOR THE NEXT FEW WORDS] ABC stole my plot, so, it's okay. Idk.[/SPOILER]  
> 2\. I don't remember what the second one was. Lyrics brought to you by The Rolling Stones, Sympathy for the Devil. Because I'm pretty sure that it's Rumpelstiltskin's song, and it's also my favorite song by them, aside from Goodbye Ruby Tuesday. And it was going to be some sexy lyrics from Def Leppard, but this chapter isn't sexy--i'm sorry for being such a tease.
> 
> Okay, seriously, this author's note is over. Enjoy the show.

At the start of the party, Belle knew three people—Ruby, Archie, and Henry. By the end, she was sure that she knew everyone, even down to the doctor people kept trying to shy her away from because he had wandering eyes and an even less well-behaved hand.

 Mary Margaret—or Snow White, as people insisted on calling her—seemed most interested in meeting Belle, and she was the most friendly. Her husband—David or James or Prince Charming, depending on who she asked—hugged her and told her that he was glad she was okay, which led her to believe that she knew him better than she remembered, and so she spent the rest of the night avoiding him, and feeling guilty for not remembering anything.

She had a lovely conversation with a small man named Tom, who also thought that this fairytale nonsense was ridiculous. He told her that his friends all insisted that his name was Sneezy, which she agreed was a bit outlandish, and she told him that Gold was under the impression that he was Rumpelstiltskin, and then they both had a good laugh.

When the mayor walked in, Belle was surprised to recognize her face, and sought to extricate herself from the conversation she was having with a group of miners. A hush fell over the group, giving her the perfect chance to slip away, and by the time everyone resumed talking, she was almost near the woman.

She was thwarted again, however, by Mary Margaret and Emma—who everyone claimed to be Mary Margaret’s daughter, despite the complete lack of age difference. Once they had extracted a promise from her to go to lunch, she was free again to find the mayor.

It took her another hour to manage to be alone with her, and it also required sneaking around until she and Emma were done having an altercation. She had to run after her receding form, tripping in her heels as she did.

“Excuse me!” she called, unsure of how to address her.

Regina paused, then turned on her toes like she was expecting to find a tiger behind her, instead of a harmless woman in heels that she couldn’t even walk in.

“Yes, dear?”

Belle didn’t like her smile, but she also knew that the woman had been hurt less than a minute before, and so she tried to forgive her. She took a few steps closer, leaving about a yard of space between them, and smiled.

“You visited me, didn’t you?” She didn’t know why the mayor looked so hardened—it wasn’t like she was accusing her of anything.

“I might have. Why?” Her tone was sharp, and Belle had the urge to wince, but she knew that she couldn’t because she didn’t want to look weak. Instead, she kept smiling. This had always worked on Mr. Gold—though she couldn’t remember a time that he had ever looked this cruel, and she wondered vaguely why the thought had popped into her head.

“It’s just, it’s rare that I see a familiar face. Did I know you?”

She was sure she wasn’t imagining the woman’s face softening, some of the crow’s feet at her eyes smoothing out.

“No.”

They watched each other for a few seconds, Belle unsure of what to say to that. Then, the mayor thrust her hand out.

“Regina Mills.”

Belle shook her hand, surprised at the firmness of her grasp and the coldness of her palm. “Belle—oh.” She paused, and frowned.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Regina asked, dropping her hand.

“I guess my name’s just Belle.” She shrugged, trying to look normal about this, and making a mental note to discuss it with Mr. Gold when he picked her up.

Regina’s mouth twitched in a forced smile. “Right. Well, I’ve got to be off.” She had turned around by the time she finished speaking, and Belle was seized with the urge to follow her because the gesture seemed so lonely, and her own heart was breaking for her.

“It was nice meeting you!” she called after her as she walked away without waiting for a goodbye.

Regina walked a few more feet and then stopped. A few seconds later, she turned around and made her way back over. Belle clasped her hands in front of her.

“Can I ask you a question?” Regina asked, and she was not smiling, but neither was she looking cold or angry. She looked like a person who had had a bad night, and was looking for anything to make her feel better.

“Of course. Ask away.”

“Do you hate me?”

Belle was taken aback by the question. How could she hate one of the only faces she’d ever seen before she met Mr. Gold and Ruby? She didn’t know anything about her, other than that she was lonely, and sad. Hate was a learned emotion, and Belle had certainly not learned it for anyone here.

“Of course not, Regina—er, your honor? I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call you.”

Regina’s lip twitched again, and this time Belle was certain it was real. “Regina is just fine. Thank you, Belle.”

Again, without waiting for a goodbye, she turned on her heel and left, but this time, Belle felt less like she was releasing her into the wild to lick her wounds, and more like she was letting her go home.

* * *

 

She decided not to tell Gold about Regina. She felt like she had been given a small glimpse into her private life, and that she owed the woman not to give it away. So when he picked her up, she smiled and got into the car in silence.

“Hello, sweetheart. How was your night?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. I think I’ve met everyone in town. You wouldn’t happen to have a chart with names and faces, would you?” She chuckled, shaking her head, although she wouldn’t have been too surprised if he’d said ‘yes.’

“I’m sure I could scrounge one up somewhere.” He glanced at her. “What did you think of Emma and Mary Margaret?”

“They’re very nice. We’re having lunch at the diner with Ruby tomorrow—if that’s all right with you,” she hastened to add.

“Of course it’s all right with me. You’re not my prisoner anymore, dearie.”

“Anymore?” She frowned, wrinkling her nose. “Was I before?”

He heaved a sigh. “I think that’s a story for another time, darling.”

Belle folded her arms. “You’re the one who brought it up. Now you’re obliged to tell me.”

“Oh, am I?” He looked at her with a grin similar to the one he’d given her earlier, after declaring their hairstyling session a date, and she found herself glad for the darkness covering the pink in her cheeks. “All right, I’ll make a deal with you, dearie.”

“A deal?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone knows the devil can’t resist a deal.”

“Oh, Mr. Gold. You’re not the devil.” She rested her fingers on his forearm, hoping this wouldn’t affect his driving—she still wasn’t sure how that worked.

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.” His grin looked amused, but grim, and Belle gave his arm a squeeze.

“All right then, Lucifer. What’s your deal?”

He gentled the car to a stop at a stop sign, and then turned to look at her. His eyes were tender, and she was sure that no one had ever looked at her with such feeling, such vulnerability—even in a time she couldn’t remember. She felt another blush coming on, and she didn’t loosen her grip on his arm.

“I will tell you the story tonight, if you’ll forgive me after.”

Belle had been expecting something cheeky, like he wanted her to make him tea for a week, or to read to him before bed for a change, instead of vice versa. She’d been prepared to feign long, internal debates, act like she was pondering whatever the terms of their agreement were before ever acquiescing. This, however, was serious, and she didn’t even have to pretend to think before she answered.

“Of course I’ll forgive you.”

* * *

She realized, as she washed the makeup off her face to prepare for bed, that she had never asked Mr. Gold the question she’d meant to. Thus, when she emerged from the bathroom, she all but pounced on his unsuspecting elbow, startling him into whacking the bed with his cane.

“Belle, you are going to kill me one day,” he growled, straightening himself out. “Get into bed.”

Belle pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, and nodded, discarding the robe of his that she’d commandeered before climbing into her side. Asking Mr. Gold for a spot at his bedside had been the best decision she’d made—with him there, she hardly even had good dreams, much less bad ones. It was like her body was making up for a lifetime of lost sleep, and for the past two days, come morning, she’d found herself feeling as though she was awakening from a coma. It was beautiful.

“I have a question,” she said, tucking the comforter up to her chin and watching him.

“Yes, yes, I’m going to tell you the story, dearie, don’t worry.” He limped around, still looking cross about the elbow-cane-bed incident. She could tell, though, by the way that he refused to look at her, that he was forcing this ire, and the second she smiled at him, he would be over it. She liked the way he held onto irrational anger sometimes, amused by his need for it, and delighted when all she had to do was be visibly near him, and it would melt away. At the party, people had tried to keep their whispers away from her ears, but if there was anything that spending however many years in a quiet cell had taught her, it was how to listen. People thought he was a monster, assumed he was keeping her there against her will. She didn’t understand how anyone could see him smile, and think that a beast lurked under the skin.

“That wasn’t my question, dearie,” she said.  

He turned to her, lips pursed at her use of his pet name, but she gave him a cheeky grin and the creases in his face smoothed.

“One minute.” As was his custom, he went about the room to check all the windows and turn out any light that wasn’t his bedside lamp. He rested his cane on the nightstand, made sure they each had a glass of water, and then, instead of putting their nightly book on his nightstand, got into bed. Belle decided not to mention it.

“All right. What’s your question?” He spread his arm across the headboard, another part of his routine that had come about after the first night. At first, Belle had thought it strange, almost silly, that he would just lay his arm there—that is, until she rested against it, and his hand curled around her shoulder. Now, she waited just a few seconds for it to also seem coincidental before scooting closer, resting her head against him. He tucked her into his side, pulling the quilt up around them, and she wondered—as she often did—if this was unusual behavior for two people living together.

“Well, my name is Belle.”

Gold was quiet for a second, and when she looked up at him, he had his brows drawn together in confusion.

“Yes?”

“And your name is Mr. Gold.”

Again, he paused for a few seconds, as though waiting for her to continue, and then nodded. “Also correct, darling.”

Belle paused, hoping he would make the connection. When he didn’t, she repeated herself. “My name is Belle, and yours is Mr. Gold.”

“Still correct.”

“Belle? Mr. Gold?”

“Belle, I don’t understand what this exercise is. Could you maybe explain yourself a bit before trying to confuse me?”

She looked up at him and huffed. “I have no last name. And—do you even have a first name?”

“Ah.” He leaned back, the confusion leaving his face to be replaced by a pensive look. He tugged on a strand of her hair, coiling it around his finger like he was spooling thread.

“Well?”

“You do have—” He stopped, closing his eyes and ceasing the motion on her hair. She scooted closer to his face to get a better look, and their lips were inches apart. He didn’t notice.

“What?” she prompted.

“A father,” he said through gritted teeth.

Belle was certain that she had heard him wrong. Surely, she would have known if she had a father? He would have told her.

“I have a father?” She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. He opened his eyes, but wouldn’t meet hers.

“A lousy, good for nothing rat of a man, who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

She had never seen him this angry. His voice was a low, feral growl, getting lower and lower with each word, until it was just a soft hiss that she had to strain to hear. His arm shook on her back, and his jaw trembled where she held it. This was not anger she could smile and charm away.

“Mr. Gold.” She wouldn’t let go of his face, because she figured that, if she did, he might run away, but she brought her other hand up to cup his cheek. She wanted him to be soothed, to trust her to soothe him. “Look at me, Mr. Gold.” She forced his head to stay still, but he still refused to meet her eyes.

“Please.”

He looked to be making a concentrated effort to drag his dusty eyes to her blue ones, away from whatever ghost he’d been staring at. It took a few seconds of her steady gaze, but his shaking slowed, and he slumped.

“Why do you hate him so much?” she asked, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“He did this to you,” he whispered. “He’s the reason you don’t remember yourself.”

Belle’s fingers stilled on his face. She had never asked how this had happened, knowing herself to be a curious girl. She had assumed the memory loss was her own fault, or at the very least, an accident. She had never imagined that someone would do this to her, someone who was supposed to love her. It occurred to her that she should be angry, as angry as the man she held between her delicate hands, but she couldn’t bring herself to any sort of emotion. How could she feel betrayed by someone she didn’t even know?

“Why?” she asked, looking back up at him. “Why did he do it?”

Gold closed his eyes, and brought his hand up to rest over hers, as if assuring himself it was still there.

“He wanted you to forget me.”

Her face softened, and for a fleeting second, she considered pressing her lips to his. That, however, would have been a terrible idea, so she settled for stroking his cheek again. She needed to say something next that would both reassure him and calm him.

“Right, so his last name is out of the question, then.”

His eyes opened, and he stared down at her as if he didn’t quite believe she existed. Then, he let out a light snort of laughter, the corners of his lips twitching into a begrudging smile.

“It seems you’ve found yourself in a conundrum, then, dearie.”

She smiled, lowering her hands from his face now that she was sure he wasn’t going to tremble himself into pieces.

“It does seem that way, yes. And then there’s always the problem of a middle name.” She leaned back, settling against him.

“Ah, but you can pick that one. The last name is a legal process, and from where I’m standing, there’s only one option for you.”

She twisted her head to look at him. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“You’ll just have to marry me, and become Belle Gold.”

She laughed, and he chuckled as well. “That is, of course, the most perfect solution. I wonder why I didn’t think of it?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, darling, it would have been horrifically improper for you to be the one to propose.”

“Oh, well then, thank you for saving me the embarrassment.” Before she knew what she was doing, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

He stilled, and her stomach sank. How had this happened? How could that have ever seemed like a good idea?

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I owe you a story, don’t I?”

“You do!” she said, voice a little too bright. She didn’t know how to fix this, so she decided to ignore it, and hope that it went away.

“You might want to lie down, darling. It’s going to be a long one.”

At his request, she wriggled downward until her head rested on the pillows, and he was at the perfect angle to stroke her hair back from her forehead.

“Are you ready? I’m going to start at the beginning.”

His fingers were cool and soft against her forehead, and she nodded as her eyelids drooped. “Ready.”

He turned off the light, leaving only the small one that he had plugged into the wall, in the event that Belle woke and was frightened of the dark. When he began, his voice was soft, lilting. It was the voice he used to read, the voice she fell asleep to every night. 

“Once upon a time, there was a man named Rumpelstiltskin, and he was a coward.”

“Is this a story about you?” Belle asked, tilting her head so that he could stroke a different section of her hair.

“Shh. I’m telling the story, not you.” His voice continued as though he were still telling the story, and Belle chuckled.

“I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

“Thank you. As I was saying, Rumpelstiltskin was a coward. He had a wife, Milah, who left him for being slime, but he also had a son. His name was Baelfire, and he made Rumpelstiltskin want to be a better man…”

* * *

 

Belle believed in magic. This was something she had to believe in, because she had seen it with her own eyes. She almost believed Mr. Gold, that everyone had two sets of memories and two lives because of a curse, but there was also an awful lot that she just couldn’t accept at the moment. She was on her way to lunch from the pawn shop, though, and she was sure that she was about to get a hefty dose of Enchanted Forest talk from Mary Margaret.

She understood why the fairytale world was appealing. In confinement, she had often fancied herself the heroine of her own story, doing deeds she didn’t understand because her only knowledge came from the books she read. She couldn’t remember learning to read or learning to talk, but she must have, and this was how she absorbed book after book of fairytales and myths.

These were the only things she’d been allowed to read. As someone who was now becoming more well-read, she understood the appeal of giving a prisoner a fairytale. At their heart, they were cautionary stories, meant to scare children into staying in bed, not taking what doesn’t belong to them, and minding what their authority figures say. It was the perfect way to condition someone to believe those notions, the perfect way to keep an unaware prisoner imprisoned.

Which was why she just couldn’t accept his tales. She knew them all—she’d read everything there was to read about fairytales—and they were fiction. They changed and adapted, like any cultural story, and they were false. How could he expect her to just believe him, when she could see that he was a man with a large house, a pawn shop, and a cumbersome limp? Was he next going to tell her that Athena was real? Heracles? The whole idea was ridiculous.

And yet, if there was anything she accepted, it was that putting one’s difficult life in fairytale terms was comforting. Sometimes, one needed to pretend to be someone else to be able to accept who they were. She understood why he wanted to believe that his wife was taken by pirates, why the man who had cautioned him to be a man or lose the mother of his child needed to be wielding a sword, and sailing away on a pirate ship.

Distracted by her musings, she found herself in front of the library instead of Granny’s. She started to turn the other direction, correct her error, but she just couldn’t resist the idea of picking out a new book. They had just finished _Treasure Island_ , and would be in need of a new story when Mr. Gold finally finished telling his. He had only gotten as far as becoming the Dark One before she drifted off, listening to him say something about ‘fealty.’

She was fishing the key out of her purse when a man-shaped shadow loomed over her. For a second, she felt a flash of something familiar, and something told her to be wary. When she looked up and didn’t recognize the face, however, her heart calmed.

It was a man, one of the most masculine she had ever seen; granted, he was wearing more eye makeup than she was, but it only seemed to add to his appeal. If she had noticed, she might have been floored at his attractiveness, but instead, she found herself taking a polite step backwards and smiling up at him.

He was dressed like a pirate from head to toe.

She couldn’t believe this.

“Can I help you?” she asked, withdrawing her hands from her purse and snapping it shut. This wasn’t happening.

“Hello, Belle.”

His smile was dangerous, the lion smiling at the gazelle before it attacked. She felt like she should have been scared, but all she could feel at his familiar greeting was despair—another person she didn’t remember.

“Oh, god, I am so, so sorry.” She clasped her hands together and looked up at him. She couldn’t help that she made herself look a little bit more feminine, a little more demure, just to make her apology that much more effective.

Instead of looking forgiving, or even continuing to look dangerous, he just looked taken aback.

“What are you sorry for, love? You haven’t done anything. Yet.”

“It’s just—I don’t remember you, and you clearly know me.” She pressed her lips together, trying to look friendly and sheepish at the same time. “It’s been awful, not remembering anyone.”

His smile was back, and he now appraised her in a way that made her feel both violated and adored. She didn’t like it.

“You don’t remember me?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m hurt, love.”

She wished, more than anything, that Mr. Gold was there with her. They could shout pet names at each other until their faces were blue, and then maybe she would feel less like an object because she would be able to lecture them on the merits of not belittling their peers.

“I am so sorry. Really, I am. There was a barrier or something—my father sent me to it, I think, I’m really not sure, but the gist is that I hit my head and got amnesia.” She chewed her lip, something she had seen Ruby do with positive results.

“Amnesia? Now that is a tragedy, love.” He took a step closer, and she stood her ground. “I’ll refresh your memory. Name’s Killian. Killian Jones.”

She knew exactly why that name sounded familiar, and it gave her a bone-deep chill. When he raised a hand and she saw that it was a hook, she tried not to visibly pale.

“It’s nice to meet you, Killian. I’m sorry, your name doesn’t ring any bells.” She offered her hand to shake, and instead of doing so, he brought it to his lips and brushed them across her fingers.

“So.” He didn’t let go of her hand, and he took enough steps to bridge the gap between them, until he was close enough to kiss her. She swallowed. “You don’t even remember Rumpelstiltskin?”

Her face was on fire and she was rooted to the spot, but something told her that, if there was ever a time to be a skeptic, that time was now. So, instead of answering, she laughed—the loud, snorting laugh that had so amused Mr. Gold the first time he’d coaxed it out of her.

“Rumpelstiltskin? Of course I remember Rumpelstiltskin.” She pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her chuckles, which were no longer forced. All she had to do was remind herself that this was the real world, and the whole thing became enough to laugh at.

“You do?” he asked, and his smile grew while he leaned even closer. He raised his hook, tracing the curve of her throat with it. “Do tell.”

Leaning back, she rested two fingers on the top of his hook, and pushed it down. It was so much easier being brave when she was faking obliviousness.

“Really? You need me to tell you the story? It seems like you know it.”

His smile twitched. “Refresh my memory.”

She pursed her lips. “Fine. Once upon a time, there was a greedy miller, who sought favor with the king. Instead of working hard, he told him that his daughter could spin straw into gold, so the king seized his daughter and locked her in a tower filled with straw, promising her he would kill her if she could not spin the straw into gold—”

“Wait, wait!” He pressed his hook to her throat once more, and she nearly gagged. “What story is this?”

“Well,” she choked out, trying to lean back again. “You would know if you’d let me finish.”

He pulled his hook back a millimeter, and she swallowed again.

“Thank you. Anyway, she obviously couldn’t spin straw into gold, and she spent most of the day crying. Then, that night, an imp appeared, and he said he could spin the straw if she gave him her ring. She did, and by morning, the room was filled with gold. The next day, the king did the same, and she traded her necklace to the imp. By the third day, she had nothing more to trade, and the king had promised to marry her if she did it one last time, so the imp said that he would accept her firstborn. She didn’t want to die, so she accepted, and when the king saw that she was successful, he married her.”

“Where are you going with this story?” Killian asked, no longer smiling.

“You asked me what I remember of Rumpelstiltskin. I am telling you just that.” If there was anything she had learned from Mr. Gold, it was how to scold. “So a year went by, and soon the woman was pregnant. The imp was forgotten until he reappeared one night, reminding her of their agreement. She wept and begged for mercy, and he took pity on her and relented, saying that if she could guess his name at the end of three days, he would allow her to keep her child. A scout saw him in his home one night, singing a song with his name in it, and the queen was able to guess and keep her child. Rumpelstiltskin was so angry that he wedged his foot in the ground and ripped himself in half.”

“I think you know that that’s not the story I wanted to hear, love.” He pressed closer to her, and this time, she strode backward.

“Well, that is the story you asked for, and I’d appreciate if you would please keep your hands and hooks to yourself, thank you very much.” She smoothed her skirt out, giving him her most prim glare.

He shook his head. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“I’m sorry, was my tale missing something? I am fairly certain that I relayed it both accurately, and interestingly.” She folded her arms, trying not to look too proud of herself for her oblivious bravery.

He raised both arms in innocence. “Darling, I am so sorry. It appears that we have gotten off on the wrong foot. Please, allow me to re-introduce myself. I am Killian Jones, your humble servant.” He swept his arm and leg out, and bowed, pressing his hook to his chest. “Forgive my rudeness, I thought you were toying with me, but now I see that you are sincere.”

For the first time, Belle felt a little shaky in her footing. “I’m sorry?”

“My darling Belle.” He stepped closer to her, taking both her hands in his good one. “I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes upon you.”

Belle almost choked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S. WHAT. SHE. SAID.
> 
> [did anyone else freak out at that particular line up there? I did when I wrote it. If you didn't catch it, I'm not going to point it out. Instead, I'm going to sit here and act like a tweenager. ily all <3]


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